The White Dove
by Saphyr88
Summary: Nearly 50 years post SFN we catch up with Helen and Tesla at a wedding... and I'm not telling you whose. Smutty Teslen, one-shot. COMPLETE.


**DISCLAIMER**: obviously this isn't entirely original work, it is based on the work of the team who brought us the SyFy series Sanctuary – which was such an awesome show I have written this for absolutely no profit whatsoever.

Fair warning: Here there be smut. And I'd rather not tone it down any. So deal. ;)

**Author's Note**: So this has been kicking around for some time on paper and I finally committed it to bits and bytes. Hope you enjoy my take on Tesla and Magnus' relationship nearly 50 years after the old Sanctuary went kaput, because let's face it, they'd still be kicking around by then! You know me, ever attempting to err on the side of reality over indulgence but I'd be intrigued to know what you think.

* * *

The roof of the old, red-coat mansion-turned-hotel was quiet. Blissfully quiet. Even with the rumble of music blaring from the open windows downstairs, here, in the heavy breeze, it was the perfect Midsummer's Eve. The warm air caressed Helen's summer dress, picking up strands of her hair where it hadn't stuck to her warm skin. Out here the sky was clear, the celestial bodies almost as bright as they had been two hundred years ago before the orange glow of streetlights seemed to perpetually screen them from view. The smell of Magnolia and Jasmine reached up into her nose, before she inhaled the scent of that fabulous premier cru in her glass and took a sip.

"Care for some company?"

Helen managed to keep her poise, despite nearly tipping the liquid down her chin in surprise. Turning to give the owner of that all-too familiar voice a light reprimand, she found herself too amused to scold… he'd brought another bottle. His sixth if her math was correct.

"When they said it was a free bar, I don't think they'd envisaged their guests appropriating six whole bottles for themselves Nikola."

He considered the bottle for a second, then her, with a brief shrug and that boyish smirk, "Everyone down there is _far_ past the point of being able to properly appreciate it," he said, sliding into the spot next to her, legs hanging over the lip of the roof, and carefully setting the bottle behind them. "I don't think we should let such a fine vintage go to waste, Helen – do you?"

"I suppose not," she smirked carefully, watching him closely as he poured himself a glass and settled down… with barely an inch of space between them.

Typical. She could see how this night was going to play out already. The long, late-night chat over an expensive bottle of wine, the idle, heart-felt kiss that stung almost as soon as their lips touched. It was a ritual they'd literally performed countless times – and the sting was always different. Bitter. Sweet. Electric. Angry. Heartbroken. She shook her head at the far-off moon; knowing full well she wouldn't do a damn thing to stop it either.

"I'd offer a toast," he remarked wryly, "but I think we've had enough of those to last a lifetime… or two."

She chuckled as he took a sip, remembering the daggers the bride had shot the Best Man after the speech had over-run by a mere ten seconds, "Yes. I don't think Sophie approved either."

Nikola exhaled; a sound which turned Helen's head. That exhausted expression on his face, she felt the tug of an old habit, a desire to lean into his close frame, rest her head on his shoulder and sink against him, but the thought made her instantly tense. Her body hardening at the sharp reminder from her brain: things were not like that anymore, and they hadn't been for some years now.

He noticed she was staring, thoughtfully, her lowered gaze unfocused but on him, somewhere in the region of his tie.

"At least he thinks the world of her," he murmured, and for a second Magnus couldn't be sure whether he was talking about the daughter she'd left partying downstairs, or herself.

"Hmm," she agreed, with the smallest smile, shifting the hold on her glass and staring back out across the grounds.

She'd spent the entire day being asked how she knew Sophie. Friends, colleagues, in-laws she'd never met before, a few people she'd met that first day she'd delivered her girl to university at Cambridge - a choice she'd almost certainly made to prove a point. Alistair was here at least, and Nikola, which made things a little easier to bear, but it was difficult. People constantly presuming you're a big sister, or an aunt, at your own daughter's wedding.

They hadn't wanted to cause a complete stir. They all knew that someone at the wedding might know she was **the** Dr Helen Magnus: founder of the Sanctuary, defender of Hollow Earth and abnormals everywhere – a contentious position to hold in the mind of the general public these days, let alone the governments of the world. Someone might yet betray Sophie to any number of Authorities world-wide, keen to derail the Abnormal Rights Movement for which the young woman had become such an effective Advocate. So Helen was playing the part of an old friend of the Foss family who had, in Sophie's fabricated reality, been the only parents she'd ever known after adopting her as a baby. Well, the story suited, she supposed – it wasn't hard to see how Sophie might have inherited a talent for well-delivered deception considering her parentage. Still, even if it was all cloak-and-dagger, at least she hadn't kept Helen away, deprived her of witnessing it… her little baby, marrying the man she loved, all dressed in a surprisingly traditional white.

Like a dove, to Nikola's mind. He smiled nostalgically at the thought. His little dove. The minute he'd clapped eyes on her that morning in her hotel room, God, he'd never expected to feel so proud of something. It wasn't the marriage, it wasn't the dress. It was her. It was that infant who had clung tenaciously onto his fingers, that girl who'd had tied red ribbons to his inventions so they were _proper presents_, that teenager who'd pouted at having to go chasing after _another_ pinepelopax instead of joining her surface-friends at the ice rink… or when that all dissolved into spite, to go traipsing through the mushroom fields with the kids she met in New Hollow Earth.

The moment had hit him like a truck – that same thwack upon impact, rearranging his internals before they put themselves back together again. He'd been all ready to make some snappy comment about how her mother had bullied him into coming, or how surprised he was that she wanted to sign her life away… but in the end, he couldn't even remember how to speak. That baby was gone – and in its place, stood the best thing he had ever created, the most beautiful creature he'd ever laid eyes on, the one person in this universe whom he loved unconditionally, and always would. She was his proudest achievement to date – and this was the man whose achievements included the utilisation of Alternating Current.

_Their_ daughter, walking down the aisle alone, refusing to be 'given away' by anyone, and it wasn't until she did, that he wished it could've been… different. That he could've…

Hell, until yesterday he'd been all set to avoid the whole shindig. To bury himself in a lab somewhere and delay the realisation that he did, in fact, care: very much, despite his claims to the contrary. Then Helen had broken the veritable Fort Knox of silence between them, specifically coming to him, reasoning, making him see sense... maybe she hadn't given up on him after all.

"Helen?"

She looked him square in the eye, the assurance, the honesty palpable in his expression.

"Thank you, by the way. For making me go."

For once the sincerity was not disturbed by an irascible grin.

Helen smiled in acknowledgement, "Well, you know… couldn't let anything so monumental as say… your _ego_ get in the way of your daughter's wedding day – could I?"

He gave her an unimpressed look for the smirk at his expense. "I'm just astonished you haven't pulled out your gun," he countered satirically, "or been called away on some containment emergency. You got old Benny running a little hamster wheel to keep the home-fires burning?"

Her back bristled slightly, "If I had to do that I'd know who was to blame, _wouldn't I_?" She widened her eyes and tipped her chin meaningfully in his direction, prompting one of his highly unconvincing attempts at feigning innocence, "Besides..." she took another sip, "the night's still young." She couldn't help but tease, "I'm sure there'll be a reason to _take aim_ before the night is through."

He leered at her with uninhibited amazement at the unexpected, but no less appreciated, innuendo. That ever-vibrant lustre in her eyes taunting him with all that was only just out of reach.

"So long as this suit remains in one piece," he managed to murmur, leaning closer.

"Oh Nikola," she admonished heatedly over her glass, "can't promise you that."

He exhaled in a hiss, past grinning teeth – a slight shake of his head, as though he couldn't be certain yet whether she was planning on following through with her banter, but was enjoying it anyway.

Ever since he'd left the Sanctuary they'd been back to this – the game they'd played long before they could ever admit to what really lay behind it. The constantly guarded flirtations placed far enough from the heart that disappointment did not hurt too much, yet close enough to make your spine tingle. In this position, brief trysts meant nothing, and everything. Heated kisses could be followed by stern rebukes, and come-ons put swiftly down after batting ones eyelashes barely seconds before. With the distance it was easier to bear. With even the briefest interlude of time, things could be forgiven… at least, for one night.

His thoughts were starting to show, his complex gaze drifting from her eyes to her lips, his nervy grin slowly slipping to something more involved. He was not wondering where it all went wrong – he knew the answer to that one – he was remembering all the times it had gone _right_. Those… God, had it been forty years? When they had shared each other's beds, finally opened up enough to see how much they meant to each other. Married, for all intents and purposes, and it had taken all of what… one month? To put them here – right, back, where they'd started – plus a child.

Helen had said once that everything outlives its purpose – words he felt she must have used before from the tears it had bubbled in the corner of her eyes as she'd said it. She was wrong though. There was no purpose to this. His love for her wasn't something he did, or built, or _needed_ to carry on existing, it was simply a part of who he was. It was the only way he could explain the fact that after everything he still kept coming back. Whether it was weeks, or months, or years later, hanging his head in shame, or cockily inviting her to hit him with her best shot, he would always come back for another round.

In the silence, they had drifted together. That long stare reminding Helen of what it was to be enveloped by a love that took her as she was – all of her, Sanctuary and all. She would always love him, even when they hated each other, even when they hurt one another… just as she had John… but that didn't make it any easier, didn't change the past.

She moved her head just that fraction closer, kissing him on impulse: a move he savoured, but did not immediately return. Feeling the weight of intent upon her lips he measured it against his own as if, in the press of it, he could divine what she wanted of him. Old habits die hard, however, and without registering it his hand had broken the measured distance between them, brushing the silk stole down her arm in a hair-raising trail that said a whole lot more than he wanted it to.

She stopped to breathe, a brief moment before he kissed her back more firmly than he had in years. A bruising crush which she reached for, pulling him closer as his own hands ghosted across the satin on her skin, tongue delving in to taste her.

The want of it was unabashed, naked, in the way it flickered, grew until they were breathless. When they pulled apart in-synch, eyes out of focus, the sound of her heartbeat was a ubiquitous thrum in his ears, the smell of her overpoweringly delicious. Her hand smoothed around and flexed against his chest, creating a little space between them, but even so, that irrepressible grin of his bloomed with the knowledge of an old soul. When she toyed with the edge of his tie like that, undressed him with those heavy-lidded eyes, Helen Magnus _wasn't_ about to seriously consider kicking him out.

"Nikola?" It was a question, but far from unsure.

"You know…" he began playfully, a low note in his voice keeping just a hint of suggestion, "I don't think we've ever done it on a _roof top_ before."

She eyed him with a sudden bout of irked clarity for the somewhat juvenile remark, but he only beamed with even more amusement. "And you think we will tonight?"

He didn't seem particularly convinced by the flat tone, tracing a line continuously up and down her arm at a hypnotic pace as he studied that unyielding poker face of hers. He almost hummed, drifting through loose hair to whisper intimately against her ear, "Care to place a wager?"

The hushed tone, the closeness of him, his scent, set off a physical reaction that was almost muscle memory. She felt her back curve against him, to receive his lips upon her neck. "Nikola…" she sighed as he obliged, her hands drifting to his shoulder, and the cool cotton of his shirt, "_Bedroom_."

"After?" he asked hopefully, her breath catching suddenly as his hand slipped beneath her skirt.

She hummed contentedly as those long, clever fingers brushed and teased against her lacy underwear, turning her head against his until she could kiss him, sharply in response. "No, _now_," it turned into a moan, half-frustration, half-release, as he rubbed more firmly against her sex, pressing hot kisses down towards her breasts as her core unfurled for him.

She bit her bottom lip to suppress the helpless sigh, her chest rising anyway as he gained precious ground against her foolhardy pretence that she wasn't just as turned on by this mad scheme as he was. The soft satin of her dress cooled like a second skin as he rolled her nipple in his mouth, the moisture lingering as he smoothed along her waist to keep her steady upon the ledge.

God there wasn't nearly enough space on the roof for what she wanted to do to him, and still she opened herself to it, too hungry for the spark and flash of their bodies to separate, to wait. He had her like some horny teenager, legs curled over the side of the building, skirt bunching ever higher as she found ways to bring him closer.

Running a hand up his leg with a boldness which was sure to get his attention, nipping his bottom lip in a kiss which made him shiver, she dragged his nearest thigh over onto the roof proper. Eventually he got the picture and straddled the masonry, so that she now sat between his legs.

Pressing into her she could feel how aroused he was – flattering in lovers as familiar as they were. She ran both hands along the front of his waistcoat, unpicking the buttons, watching him as she ventured further down. Saw the flicker in his eyes the moment he lost all restraint and kissed her, deeply. The world was spinning from it, she could feel herself slowly lying down against the ledge, his weight above her, waistcoat flapping in the breeze as she struggled to push it down his arms.

Reaching frigid stone, the sudden change in temperature made her gasp, and pull up so sharply she hit him square in the chest. He laughed, more than content with the abrupt tightening of her legs, clinging around his hips for some surety against the four storey drop to her right, but she soon recovered from the initial shock... and when she did, her expression was far too cunning to be good for him.

Sure enough she dragged her pelvis close against his in a tortuous motion that left him almost panting, a sinful sliver that was more than enough to make his eyes change to their darkest hue. Then the dress started to shimmy up her body as she tugged it up, across her body.

"_Helen_," Tesla exhaled at the sight of her, teasing the fabric over her own head until she lay bravely against that cold hard stone in nothing but lacy lingerie and a 'your move' smile.

Nikola was not about to disappoint. Laying a kiss upon her abdomen, he ran hands right the way down her sides in a long, delicious line, faster than the slide of his tongue lower and lower. She arched at the press of lips against her heat, as he brushed against the flimsy barrier of her underwear with a firm lick that made her purr. Then he pulled away just as quick, letting the cool air hit her skin, abandoning her to her own want in that way that made her want to scream. Dear God he was going to pay for that.

The fabric of her underwear fell away beneath the deft slice of his claws, the ghost of them along her thighs enough to make her tingle, and forget to tell him off for ruining _another _pair of panties. Oh but that look on his face... it was the promise of something exceptional, something thrilling - and like always she just _had _to find out _what_.

He held her with that stare, gently cupping her ass as he delved in to kiss her most intimate of places: a long searing possession that swirled and teased, and tied her in knots until she gasped out. All above them lay an endless heaven of midnight blues, and diamond stars. She sucked the sight in voraciously as he took tender flesh between his teeth for just a moment, as her fingers found their way into his already mussed hair, and massaged his scalp in encouragement. That was before those damn fingers of his entered the equation, and brought her even closer to the sky.

The most inarticulate sounds started to fall from her mouth, hard 'ah's and shuddering 'mmm's until the word 'yes', like a slutty little counterpart to this slutty little encounter, found its way into Nikola's ears and made him smirk. The expression only grew wider when she finally moaned his name, moments before coming to a peak that made her muscles twitch and quiver all around him. Her grip tightened almost painfully for brief a moment, before fading to an ill-gotten whisper.

She was warm, oh so very warm, the blush of her skin... it was beautiful. He ran a hand along the plane of her thigh, reminding himself of the pattern of her flesh, leaning over to kiss her on the mouth. He didn't expect the tender brush of her hands against his cheeks as he did so, the thankful way she reached up to meet him, keeping him close, or the sly fingers that gradually found their way down to unhooking his belt.

"Too many clothes Nikola," she whispered huskily, hoping he'd get the hint and divest himself of the most crucial items.

"Right," He blinked at her - such a incongruously naïve expression it made her smirk - but he soon shook it off, pulling away the hard dress shoes and shoving the trousers down his legs as fast as vampirically possible. By the time he was in nothing but a shirt and tie, Helen had already divested herself of her bra and hovered over him, naked, the moonlight making her skin look like silk. She leaned in, started loosening his tie, breathing in the scent of him as their lips drifted together again in short meeting, then another. His hands trailed across her sides, and waist, as she ripped off his shirt. If they were going to fuck on a rooftop she was _not _going to be the only one completely naked damn it. Tasting his tongue as he pulled her close against him, chest to chest, skin on skin, the friction formed only the barest precursor of what she could already feel brushing hard against her inner thigh. She moaned into his mouth, her body reacting to the mere imagery of what would come, determining to pull herself away from those clever lips.

He didn't have time to be confused as to why she had stopped. She shifted, ever so slightly, in his lap, teasing the head of him, and all he could think about was being inside of her. His hands grew possessive of her hips, ready to make a move that would bring some satisfaction, but with the most daring look in her eyes she beat him to it. Sheathing him deep in one heady motion that brought out a thankful groan from his lungs.

She rose up from him, slight hand pushing gently down upon his sternum, running a line down his chest as she straightened up, and flicked back her hair with that naughty smirk that was just too delicious for words. He leered back, until she sank on him again, hips lowering on him so slowly he thought he might lose it all too early. _Minx_.

Falling into a rhythm she moved above him, pushing his thickness into her slick core over and over, letting him watch the pleasure roll through every muscle and out of her mouth on every panted sigh. He couldn't take his eyes off of her, not once. As the long and lush motions grew shorter and sharper in desperation, accompanied by the stroke of a hand, the sounds of pleasure - to feel the weight of someone's attention in that moment made every touch, every push, _everything _more penetrating - richer, deeper, harder to contain.

Damn it felt so good. His hips shifted unexpectedly making her gasp, and then moan, as he twisted ever so slightly inside of her. She kept the motion going with a tweak of her hips. "_Helen_," he gasped desperately, her triumphant smile broken by the sudden lurch of pleasure as he hit _the _spot and left her breathless again, and again, and again. She was getting closer, her movements jerkier as she started to lose all coordination, and all control over the sounds she was making.

"Nikola," she was begging, her fingers pressing against his skin until they were almost white, biting back the rising urge to verbally explode as she came, shivering and sweating, and drenched in the elation. He threw back his head with the rush in every inch of him, pouring into her body with an irresistible crescendo that broke like a summer storm.

For a moment, everything stopped in that high, where they could feel right again. Then her agile body drooped onto him, hot and humming against his chest with the same contentment he felt from the top of his head to his toes.

"Wow," he managed, incapable as ever of shutting up for long.

"Something like that," she breathed with that rare, bell-like laugh in her voice.

They fitted together so beautifully when they needed to, he thought absently, pressing his chin into her hair. His arms slipping round to hold her, feel her there a little longer… as if she could stand up right now, let alone walk away from him. The height-induced breeze starting to build against her cheek only made the prospect of attempting to stand on this ledge even _more _unreasonable.

Turning her head she managed to look up at him, and though she had intended to play coy, to tell him teasingly that _he hadn't lost his touch_, she couldn't muster the strength for it. He could tell, she was sure, as she pulled herself level and placed a tender kiss chastely upon his mouth. Tonight was… different.

Tonight, they were the two bodies that had brought Sophie to life, the two souls that had nurtured her, the two hearts that had just had to say goodbye to their baby girl for the magnificent woman she had become. For tonight, _that _was more than enough.

His fingers started to brush away the hair from her face in a tender gesture which always set the base of her spine tingling. As though it would go somewhere else: somewhere terrifyingly, thrillingly, close to the heart. Like ice - and maybe it was the shiver of cool air which passed over her backside - she remembered where they still were… naked, and in an _entirely _compromising position. Helen suddenly had horrifying visions of Sophie and Dan wandering up here for the romantic view, or worse, Alistair hunting for his missing boss/honourary grandma. Nikola could see it register in her eyes, before she'd so much as parted her lips, and he understood completely. This could become… more than awkward. He glanced askance for a moment, at the drop one side, then the access door on the other, giving out a dramatic little sigh.

"I could _lock_ the door," he pointed out, but she didn't seem convinced despite the magnetic powers.

"It's a _fire exit_ Nikola."

"Exactly," he leered none-too-seriously, "it's _designed _to be sealed."

She huffed, as though denying her amusement, peeling herself off of him to reclaim some semblance of modesty. Nikola, far from wanting to push his luck just yet, joined her search - his body making its disapproval more than known as they parted.

"Wait," Helen cut a sharp glance around them, at the somehow still-standing bottle, the pile of his clothes, her handbag, "where's my dress?"

Nikola followed a similar path with his eyes across the scene, "Erm…" he couldn't help the nascent smirk at the conclusion he was beginning to draw, glancing over the edge of the building to where the pale fabric had gotten caught like a ghost on a window.

Worried by the tone in his voice she zeroed in on him, desperately hoping that expression didn't mean what she thought it did.

Steeling herself, she glanced below - head sharply whipping back up at the sight to glare accusingly in his direction. All _he_ could do was laugh... until she kicked his trousers off the ledge, to meet the same fate.

"Hey!"

That devious smirk of hers was a dangerous thing.

"Well go on then _genius_," she challenged, crossing her arms over her now bra-covered chest, "how do you suggest we get to my room - _without_ being seen?"

The use of the words 'we' and 'my', the hint that this particular encounter was far from over, did marvellous things to Nikola's demeanour but, above all, the challenge brought out that irrepressible enthusiasm of his.

"Oh please," he leered, voice becoming more intimate the closer he came, "that one's easy."

* * *

**Author's Post-Note**: Oh man, if only Sophie knew. She'd freak. For anyone who cares Sophie is the same as Sofija in Sandstorms (I like the idea that she purposefully rejects the more exotic special-snowflake version of her name for the more "normal" one at some point in her life) and yes, that's Alistair Foss. ;)

**Update**:- carmesdi just pointed something out date wise - eek, so had to correct for the timeline's sake! :) But basically Sofjia's like under 18 months in Sandstorms and this is set c. 2056/7 ish. Also, Alistair works for the Sanctuary, not Nikola.


End file.
